The Picture in the Locket
by Half Dime
Summary: I can't really write a summery without giving TOO much away; but the title caught your attention, so go ahead and read!
1. Chapter 1

**Alright guys- I'd just like to say it now: this is my first Fan-Fiction, and this is my first REAL attempt at romance. So I'm ganna need your guy's help: if you could just review this story for me once you're done reading it, that would be greatly appreciated; thank you. Oh, and make sure to check back often for updates! Because, this story isn't as simple as you may think…**

He took her hand and put his other arm around her waist. Her face reddened slightly, and in turn, he grimaced, giving her once last chance to back out. Her head tilted sheepishly, but she nodded, denying his offer.

The lights dimmed and the music began moments later. It wasn't instantaneous, catching them off guard, but nor was it an awkward, over-exaggerated silence. It was just enough time for them to gaze into each other's eyes and sense the spark of mutual affection that shot between them. As the music started, he led her out onto the dance floor, while other couples were maladroitly getting each other's permission to do the same.

They started out swaying. She seemed somewhat uncomfortable, (as did he, although he would never admit it to anyone,) so he decided to begin there. Swaying. Just swaying. Back and forth, as the music hummed on behind them.

"Um… Jen?" He started; trying to decide if then was the right time or not.

"Yes, Si?" Her eyes fluttered as she spoke, almost unnaturally, and he began to wonder just how intentional that gesture had been.

"I, um, have something for you… Here." He dug around in his pants pocket, and withdrew a small, heart-shaped locket strung on a long, gold chain. He handed it to her slowly, indulging in the fact that they were, to an extent, holding hands.

"It's beautiful." She whispered, admiring the craftsmanship.

"Open it."

Children. Inside the locket were mere children. Just a boy and a girl playing dress-up in an old attic. But still, when she saw the picture, she began to hyperventilate. For the kids were playing wedding; and it was none other than her five-year-old self wearing the veil, and his six-year-old past in the black tux.

Her eyes began to tear up, and she gave him back the necklace. At first he was surprised, assuming she didn't want the token, but when she turned around to let him put it on her, he knew it was all right.

"Thank you," she breathed, and slid back into his embrace.

Soon after; well, too soon for their liking; the melody quickened, as the song neared its peak. Their eyes met, and what he saw was unmistakable. Trust. If he thought he could pull it off without making her fall, she trusted him. If he didn't think he could, she trusted him. He laughed nervously, then sighed. He pulled his arm from her waist and flung her into a twirl. She flawlessly spun around once, her purple satin dress trailing along behind her.

But in her whirlwind, their legs entangled, sending them both stumbling to the ground, sprawled atop one another.

Panic arose in her eyes. She hadn't! This had been her chance, her night, to be with him. Too many years of flirting; too many board games they had played; too many heart-to-heart conversations they had had; too many times she had to remind her sisters, "We're just friends," to have all that ruined in one klutzy move. Her mouth went bone dry as the color drained from her face. "I'm, I'm so sorry, Simon." she muttered as she scrambled to her feet and helped him up. Situating his glasses back on his face for him, she took one last look into his sapphire blue eyes, then tore herself away, sprinting to the nearest exit.

Tears welded up in her eyes. _Keep it together, ol' girl_. she told herself. _Make it to the bathroom; just make it to the bathroom. You can call Miss Miller and go home. You'll never have to go to another dance as long as you live._

"Jeanette! Jeanette!" he frantically called after her. She didn't hear him. She either wasn't listening or wasn't paying attention. "Jeanette!" He continued, racing after the girl he now knew he was in love with. "Sorry, excuse me, pardon me. JEANETTE!" he yelled as he shuffled his way through the crowd of couples who were still enjoying the evening's last dance.

The door screeched as she threw it open, leaving the dance for good. She kicked her heels off and pulled up her dress so she could turn her sprint into a run. Mascara was now streaming down her face, along with the tears that were so overpowering. _Faster, faster._ She repeated, struggling to force her attention away from her problems. _Faster, faster…_

"Oh, what's the use?" She sniffled. Her feet collapsed from beneath her, as she fell to the ground with silent sobs racking her body. Her knees were hugged against her chest, and her face was buried deep between her legs. "Why? Oh, why?" Her words were barely audible, even to herself. "Why me? Why me? Why did I have to spoil everything? And why couldn't I have fixed it? Had Brittany crashed into Alvin, she could've turned it into flirting! Probably could've gotten a kiss out of it, too! So why couldn't I? What's wrong with me?" She pulled the locket from around her neck, and began to examine the picture inside.

"Jeanette?"

"For a moment- a brief, fleeting moment- I felt something. Something was there. And I thought he felt it, too… Now it's gone! It's all gone!" A single tear slid down her cheek, and dangled from the edge of her chin.

"Jeanette?"

"I'll never be with him… It's over! It's all over! Brittany was right! I should never have come to this dance! I'm not coordinated enough; I'm not flirtatious enough; I'm not pretty enough… I'm just not GOOD enough!" The teardrop plummeted down, landing on the picture before her; directly atop the boy's profile; distorting the ink around it. She gasped, and started dabbing at the picture with her dress, trying to salvage whatever it was she could.

"JEANETTE!"

She stopped what she was doing and gulped back her wailing, but she wasn't able to gulp back her tears.

"You still owe me a dance." informed the bespectacled chipmunk before her.

She gazed at him for a brief moment, somewhere between bewilderment and confusion. She wiped the watery mixture of mascara and eye-shadow from her face, and let an embarrassed smirk find its way to her mouth, then nodded. With a humiliated giggle, she thrust herself up, and let him take her hand once more.

As the song finished with its final notes, she impulsively laid her head on his chest. His heart raced with anticipation, and she glanced up at him. He was smiling. She closed her eyes and eased back into relaxation. "Oh, Simon…" She whispered.

"Jeanette…"

"Simon?"

"Jeanette…"

"Simon… Simon!"


	2. Chapter 2

**Alright guys- I'm not going to sugarcoat it- this chapter isn't going to be as interesting as the first. The first chapter had some… How shall I put this…? Misconceptions; I need to straighten out, and this chapter is pretty much dedicated all to that. But still, in the end, I do believe this story will be worth the read, so go ahead; enjoy; and don't forget to review!**

"Simon! Simon! Hel-lo, Simon Seville!" The old teacher hollered at her pupil as his fantasy faded to reality. When he didn't answer, she peered over his work; then gave him a look of total and utter disapproval. For the first time, he consciously looked down at his paper, and saw what was bothering her. "Is this a good likeness?"

He studied the mountain of stuff lying on the table before him; a basket of fruit, a cup bursting with paintbrushes, a giant toy dinosaur, and a sombrero were all lying atop a colorful blanket near the center of the room. He then regarded his own sketching. A small girl was poorly penciled in, emphasized with charcoal. She was hunched over a desk, her uncolored hair obscuring most her profile; an element of urgency visible on her face, as she diligently worked with the paper before her.

"I just drew what I saw," he joked, trying to ease the tension between them.

"Back to work, Seville." His cheeks began to sting in irritation as she strode away. He glared back down at his drawing before he crumbled it up and threw it in the wastebasket behind him. He positioned his head in his fists and situated his elbows on the table. Little by little, his face skidded down his arms, until it eventually collapsed on the tabletop. He wasn't even supposed to BE in this class. He should've been in choir. Singing, dancing, that was more his style. And, although she would deny it, it was more Jeanette's style as well. The only reason she signed up for Art I was because she needed a Fine Arts credit, and Art just happened to be what her overwhelming crush was enrolled in. And, of course, Simon just HAD to follow her.

In all honesty, she and Simon weren't dating, for she was in love with someone else. Luke Sandrock. A JOCK, of all things. No, it never worked out between the two of them. Simon was just a chapter in her diary that never came true; a friend that had worked his way up to "crush" status but never any further. He was just… there.

When the bell finally rang, he was the first one to his feet; more than ready to get through his last few classes and be done with the day. He needed some time alone; something he found more pleasurable and more necessary as of the days of late. Being alone seemed to be the only thing that kept his sanity in check; and when it was given to him, like during passing period or while he was taking a shower, it was a precious gemstone he treasured, not allowing a single instant to be wasted with mediocre thoughts or actions. Being alone was his time.

"Oh, and Simon…" his advisory seized his shoulder. He winced, uncertain of what the old woman wanted, slightly shaken at the thought. "…if I could have a word?"

He watched for a moment as other students left the room, wishing desperately that he could be one of them. He sneered at Luke, who, even then, was bearing Jeanette's hand, kissing her lips, and preparing to depart with everyone else. Displeased with both Luke and himself, he grunted, then turned around to follow his professor to her desk. She gestured for him to sit down before continuing. "Alright, Seville. What's up?"

"What's up with what?" He was glaring at her now; his way of concealing his insecurity from her.

"You know… You and Jeanette."

"Nothing." He replied all too promptly; almost defensively. "We're friends, nothing more."

There was a long, awkward pause in the conversation. His scowling persisted, daring her to ask more. She was bewildered by him, for in her mind, he was just a puzzle to solve; a complex riddle with a simple answer, if only she could find it. She stared at him for the longest time, going deep beyond his flesh and blood; but knowing full well she wasn't going to get any more out of him; she gave up on the charade. "Alright, Seville. You may go." He nodded in comprehension, stood up, and resituated his book bag. He got maybe a couple of steps away before she added, "Just do me one little favor…"

He groaned, then pivoted around once more. She bent down and started rummaging through some stuff in her desk; and after a few seconds, she held up a wadded up piece of paper, and tossed it to him. He unwrinkled it, and beheld the girl he had doodled before. Jeanette. "Don't totally give up on her." The old woman winked at him, as he grinned back; totally and completely satisfied.


End file.
